


Chocolate Mint

by TerrifiedAristocrat



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cookies, M/M, POCecil, Sexual content mention, spoilers for episode 44
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrifiedAristocrat/pseuds/TerrifiedAristocrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos ponders the taste of things he loves. Except he does not ponder how Star Trek tastes, seeing as that would be difficult. Other things though?Oh yeah. Tasting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Mint

They were cold and crisp, crunchier than if they were room temperature. That was how Carlos ate Thin Mints- frozen for approximately forty minutes, not too long. The chocolate gets brittle and then melts on your fingers and that’s only good if Cecil’s there to lick them off. Cecil wasn’t there- he was doing his radio show. Carlos could hear it, and listened with a mixture of concern and pride in the tone and thinly veiled threats that came out of Cecil’s mouth.

When Cecil came home Carlos kissed him, and Cecil remarked cheekily that he tasted like mint.

“I bought some cookies, remember,” Carlos remarked.

“Did you eat them all?” Cecil asked.

“Yes,” Carlos replied easily, patting his stomach. “It’s impossible to only eat one sleeve. As a scientist, I tested it,”

“Really?” Cecil laughed and nudged the door shut behind him, weaving his way around stacks of books and papers, a coffee table that refused to let anything on it without a blood sacrifice. He unwound his hair and it poufed around him, a halo of earthy blond perfection. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Carlos asked instead of answering Cecil’s question. Cecil turned and tilted his head.

“Only if I can touch yours,” he replied and he did it in just the right candor that made the suggestion sound more sexual than it was. Or maybe it was the right amount of sexual charge since Carlos’ fingers never stayed in Cecil’s soft, rich locks any more than Cecil’s bony dark fingers remained in his own. Cecil liked brushing them along Carlos’ jawline, commenting when Carlos would neglect to shave and make a Velcro-like surface along his face. Carlos liked the tattoos, the semicircular shapes under Cecil’s eyes drawn out in ink that wasn’t exactly white but still contrasted beautifully against Cecil’s skin. That man was a work of art, a tightly woven together net of ideas and hypotheses, of curves and angles and chemicals and matter and molecules that proved to Carlos without a doubt that existence was the best thing ever to happen, aside from Thin Mints and Star Trek and thick quilt comforters and rainy mornings where the alarm didn’t go off. 

Cecil was warm and earthy, not like sand but maybe like clay. Nothing like fertilizer, the dark, artificial stuff with lumps of white that are supposed to nurture plants. Cecil tasted natural like spring soil that had green things poking out of it, full of life. Of course soil didn’t taste like Cecil, nothing tasted quite like Cecil except for Cecil and even different areas of Cecil had different… cants to the taste, so to speak. Like how an actor shifts the pitch of his voice. Cecil’s lips tasted nothing like the long fingers Carlos sometimes took into his mouth. Cecil’s fingers were salty but his lips carried a hint of lip balm on them, rose scented. Sometimes they tasted like Carmex which made Carlos’ lips and tongue tingle in a peculiar manner but when they tasted like Carmex Carlos didn’t kiss him as much. The desert air sucked so much moisture out of his poor radio host it wouldn’t be fair to suck any more out. Even if the world wasn’t fair, if nothing at all was ever fair, Carlos did his best to gift some fairness onto Cecil. 

If nothing else the moans he made were just as delicious as the Thin Mints Carlos just consumed.


End file.
